The Colour of the Bridge
by coldbloodtoothpick
Summary: Three forces stand in a media storm surrounding the human rights abuses of the Sinnoh Civil War: a brutal tyrant, an incorruptible reporter and a world-weary peacemaker... A political drama about what happens when unstoppable forces meet immovable objects - MY 1ST FANFICTION SERIAL. PLZ READ AND REVIEW I'M JUST A POOR BOY (Rated M for language sex violence)
1. Prologue

The Sinnoh moon glared white like the semen covering her face. It was in blotched formations, partially hiding bruises, meshing with her make-up and tears. Her neck had gone purple from the rush of emergency blood, some of which inconspicuously trickled out on to the burgundy carpet, but her chest was white and withdrawn. The shade of her convex spine grew darker as it went downwards, that shade eventually becoming as deep as that of her cocktail dress, ripped off and slung over a chair two metres away. This decaying structure of a woman had lain on the floor motionless, aside from heavy breathing, for the past 2 hours, but its peacetime was interrupted by the detonation of a cough and splutter. The squeezing of excess water out of her eyes and a brave look upwards revealed a purple-gator shoe. Further up, and with added pain, she saw Robert de Gobin towering over her.

He was sitting in his armchair with one leg straight and the other crossed over it. His hands sharpened the end of a long stick with a pen-knife, his eyes stayed fixed on the large TV in front of him. As the wood-shavings floated to the ground a passing Glameow paused to sniff at them, before jumping over the girl's body and continuing. The creature stretched and brushed itself against the room's heavy curtains, observing the royal bed, wall hangings and piles of briefcases that were cast in the blue glow of the TV. It then moved behind the curtains and sat down on the balcony, eventually nodding off to the tranquil landscape-view that Suzuran Island offered.

The girl groaned slightly. Consciousness made her feel as if her body had been pulled inside-out. Mr Gobin paused, twitched his moustache and brushed his suit with a gloved hand. Well, at least she's alive, he thought to himself. Then he restarted his whittling.

The news channel that he was watching blurted out various tales, some true, some false. His eyes sharpened at the mention of the International Pokémon League, this year held in Hoenn's Ever Grande City. The event had gripped the last week's news with swooping shots of waterfalls and explosive action. It attracted 8% more trainers than the previous year. Mr Gobin sighed. Becoming a trainer was such a waste of good muscle. He listened:

"_...which was how Hoenn's own Brendan Duke took the title of Champion this year, beating off the previous holder, Wallace Ford. Duke was crowned victor at yesterday's ceremony and was greeted by national leaders for his success. Here, we can see him shaking hands with the President of the Kanto region, Richard Bernstein..._"

He gave a sideways smile. Putting down the stick and knife, he raised a wine glass from the nearby coffee table and drank to the kid's honour. Its taste confused him. He pinned the off-key, rather bitter flavour on the wines youth; perhaps he would need a new butler, one who didn't mince decades. But he continued to drink it, whether he liked it or not. Wine wasn't a necessity for him, it was a symbol of power, much like the other lavender furnishings that decked the room. If he wanted to defile the juices of a Pamtre berry while they were still pink, so be it.

"I don't suppose you want any, Ms Chambers?" he asked the girl. His voice had a strangely soothing quality to it, a confidence that won people over time and time again. He stretched the glass out in her direction without moving his head from the screen. "It's good stuff. Very mature. Almost perfect, in fact."

She grumbled in reply. The news rolled on.

"_...so the events of the League are now over. However, for the national leaders involved there is more to come; they traditionally hold a small dinner party where they discuss politics together the night after the closing ceremony. Of course, it is also a time for ministers to relax and get to know each other personally. Speeches will be made by both the Hoenn Prime Minister, Edmund Locke, and its Foreign Minister, Irving Smith. Unfortunately, the Gorebyss Falls Hotel isn't admitting any reporters or cameras inside, so we..._"

He turned, looking over her nude, sprawling figure.

"Now, Ms Chambers," he began.

"Please..." she choked out, very suddenly. He waited for her to follow this up, but her mouth stayed ajar as if a ghost was forcing it open. While she recovered, he noticed that the clock read 10:23 PM. He considered that the Hoenn region was 3 hours behind due to the time-zone differences. That meant that while his evening was nearly over, theirs was just beginning. To this he smiled. He liked being ahead of the game. He turned back to see how Ms Chambers was doing.

"Well?" he asked.

"...don't...hurt..."

"Oh, come now Ms Chambers..." he nonchalantly cast at her. He listened once more to the TV's ramblings:

"_...many reporters asking about the war crimes committed by the current Sinnoh government at the end of their civil war 7 years ago. Due to these allegations it is suspected that their representatives won't..."_

Mr Gobin sneered and muted the reporters. They carried on with their dumb show regardless.

He turned quickly back to Ms Chambers, who was now beginning to move, and flashed her a grin under his rigid moustache. "Now, if we can finally converse, tell me what you want to say. Speak up this time."

She strained and managed to prop herself up with outstretched arms. Her breasts hung down, though she couldn't feel them. Looking up she saw Mr Gobin's face, one side burning in the cobalt light of the screen. She threw her gaze down again. "I...I just want to..." she took a huge gulp, "...live, please...sir."

He raised his eyebrows and began to monologue. "Live? Why, my love, that's what you've been doing since you've arrived here, is it not? I took you under my wing because I saw a spark, potential; there was something special, indeed, very _lively_ about you." Ms Chambers' arms began to shake. "The only thing I can offer you is the passage to self-help, as it seems that you want to leave this place. You do want to stay, right? I don't see any reason why -"

Ms Chambers' arms gave in and she hit the floor. The pain caused her to cry almost instantly. She screamed out his name and called him a rapist. She writhed and swore that she would escape, but Mr Gobin just watched until she stopped. She felt alone.

Finally, he spoke.

"Come now, come."

He leaned out of his chair and hoisted her up by her shoulders. She tried to stand, but her legs felt like they had been torn apart, and were just hanging off her pelvis. She was still wearing her high-heels. He got back into the chair and had her sat facing him, saddling his knees, her legs brushing his. He made sure to thoroughly clean her face of fluids with a tissue before letting her collapse onto him, tears flowing onto his shoulder.

"There, there. See, I am looking out for you."

"You...hate me."

"What? No! I came back to see you today. Didn't I, honey? I thought you would have been happier." He drank some more of the horrible wine. He then held the glass up to her face and she drank. It ran down her throat like muddy water. The taste was like some powerful symbol that was beyond her grasp, that only revealed the dirt inside her. It had a sensual touch, which grew too large for her to contain and ripped out of her chest. She didn't know what to say.

"Maybe at one point I might have _disliked_ you, but that's all in the past now."

"Well," she pushed his hands away and wiped her nose, "you don't let me leave, and hurt..."

"Stop being stupid," he said abruptly. He put his hands on her waist. Even now, he admired her shape. Hers was a good size, not bony and thin like most other women, but something with actual weight to it. She definitely didn't look 21. "Let me lay it out for you: our country was nearly destroyed by war, by you and your eastern allies who hide behind Mount Coronet. Gracefully, after 20 years, it stopped. Then, the few areas that weren't completely wrecked were built up again. Now western Sinnoh is a paradise. Our paradise. But you want to go back to the east? Why? To drink diseased water and converse with sub-humans? I'm trying to _help_ you."

"B-But you get so angry..."

"Perhaps, but I can assure you that it's the only way of getting things done. Try it some time. I would call it...a lesson, not an overreaction. Go to the east and things would be ten times worse."

"I...I'm worried that...I mean, what if I'm _with child_...what would you...?"

He paused as she did. He noticed that her right nipple, floating in front of him, was cut down the middle and bleeding. He looked back. "Even more reason to stay! The east is no place to raise a child, but here we think about the future. I've had children before, I know what it's like. You can stay here with me, as a wife. How about that?" He pushed their pelvises together and she flinched. "Remember this, my love: what's happened in the past is gone now. All we need to think about is the future. If you decide to climb Mount Coronet, and try to reverse what's happened, you and your child would die unknown and filthy. Additionally, you'd let word out of the wonders that we've saved for ourselves here, on Suzuran. Everyone in Sinnoh would suffer if you left, don't you see?" Her mouth widened in shock of this. He casually leaned back. "So, the choice is yours, stay behind or move forward and progress in life. Progress. Yes, _that's_ what this is about. You have to look out for yourself, and right now," he made sure she was looking in his eyes, "I feel that I care more about you than you do. Now, you _do_ want to stay, right?"

Ms Chambers still felt a sickness inside her, but nodded her head, sniffing. He kissed her above her breasts and rubbed her back.

"Good, now go and get some sleep."

She got herself up and slowly walked towards the bed. After hesitating at first, she found herself not lumbering, but skittering along airily. All of a sudden she was very relaxed. Her pulped, mauve figure turned and spoke with regal complacency:

"Thank you...Robert."

He smiled to himself - Sinnoh had just avoided another nasty accident, and he didn't even have to get out of his chair. He un-muted the news and began to carve out the spear some more:

"_...yes, our Pokémon correspondent James can confirm that the Supreme Leader of Sinnoh, Robert de Gobin, will not be attending the events at the Gorebyss Falls Hotel, having left earlier today for domestic reasons..._"


	2. Vehicle

"They're self-righteous bastards, the Sinners, aren't they Ed? I swear if this were two-hundred years ago I'd feed them to the fucking Walreins."

"Now _that's_ a bit harsh, Irving..."

"Oh, better yet, I'd toss them down Mount fucking Chimney, with cookies up their arseholes."

"What!? Have you been drinking already? This is a gathering of heads of state, not bloody Homecoming. Now, I don't want any of that sort of language at the hotel."

"Sorry boss, it was a slip of the tongue."

"Besides, using a slur like 'Sinners' does in fact make you sound two-hundred years old. Sinnoh isn't a colony anymore, you know. It has a government. As well as voting systems, trade routes. Even political parties..."

"Well, by the looks of their turnout at Gorebyss Falls, they don't sound like party people."

Edmund Locke, the Prime Minister of the Hoenn region, sighed. His watch read 7:23 PM but he was already tired. What amazed him was that the buzz from both hosting and winning the International Pokémon League could have worn off so quickly. Only last night all had been jolly; he, his family, the country, _everyone_ was celebrating. But now everything seemed to be spiralling out of control. He had to be suited up again to make this sudden speech, there was a media storm over the Sinnoh region's actions, and all he had to look forward too after all that was aimlessly wandering around a hotel lobby for four hours. Not his dream night out.

He tried to ease his mind by objectively judging the levels of paranoia inside him compared to the amount of people, the length of the speech...yes, the algorithms said he was just overreacting. There had never been a speech he'd made that wasn't preceded by anxiety, and a taxi ride with the wild Irving Smith would leave this one without exclusion. Whatever the subject. At least there wouldn't be any press there. Just relax.

"But honestly boss," Irving rambled on, "how could they just pull out of the gathering like that? It only makes them look more suspicious. Bunch of nutters, I'm telling you."

Edmund let out a nervous laugh and stretched his legs as much as he could. Although Irving drove him up the wall he still admired the guy. He had stood out in government from his first day for two reasons: his lower class origins, having been born and raised in the fields of Oldale Town, and his fierce intelligence. And Irving was keen to show off both of these to their greatest extent. He had a thick accent and no-nonsense manner about him that meant he always got what he wanted, and over the years this hardness had even spread on to his superiors.

"You know Irving, I've always wondered how I ended up giving you the job of Foreign Minister, when in fact the one thing you hate most in life is foreigners. What could have attracted you to the role?"

"I took up the job for the simple reason that it pays me to get as far away from my wife as possible." Edmund laughed again. "Hey, how's your wife, Ed?"

"She's alright." He began to pull at his shirt collar and the sleeves of his blazer. "Though she was trying to get me to go with the kids to her father's house in the country. I thought she was joking - on a week like this? Hosting the League will probably be the most important thing I ever do, so I can't just _take a break_. Don't know what it is with her. Uncontrollable."

His partner nodded, knowing that married life was more like a drug strain in Parliament than anything else, so stopped asking questions.

They didn't talk for around 2 minutes.

Edmund tried to cover up his shivering. Taxis always made him feel like he was being interrogated. Even the ones hired by the government to carry him around. The dark leather seats seemed to leave huge scratches and fingerprints whenever touched. The windows always had a certain dark tint to them, and a sheen. Sometimes he felt as if he was stalking the pedestrians outside, oblivious to his presence. Other times pressing his face up to the glass sent a jolt of fear through him - they could see him. He had no idea why this happened, and it was probably something no one would be able to answer. If he ever told anyone, that is. He eventually resumed conversation:

"Uncontrollable, that woman. I don't know what I do wrong. But anyway, you _did_ look at my speech right? I sent it to you at-"

"Yes, Ed, we've been through this. I told you that it's fine, remember? I swear, all I do is remove one joke about Cubones and you go mental..."

"I was just thinking...well...the whole thing seems a little to..._triumphant_, y'know? I mean, I know we won it and all, but perhaps it should be more focused on how we _all_ achieved this..."

"Honestly, sometimes you sound like you never even went to university. Stop pussyfooting and get out the car."

"What? Now?"

"Yes, you dingbat, we're here."

Edmund gulped and steadily swung himself out the car seat into the night time air of Ever Grande City. The obsidian dome above him held a few stars, but those absent were made up for by the sky-reaching towers and glowing monuments for miles around. He stood in the heart of all this, on a freshly swept road that sprung out north of the previously occupied Battle Stadium. Looking down the avenue there was a fountain fashioned into the shape of a Gyarados with various tourists taking photos of it, smiling. But on the opposite side of the street was his destination, the Gorebyss Falls Hotel, with a mob of journalists and cameramen partly obscuring it.

The door of the taxi slammed shut. He and Irving made brave steps forwards but these seemed tentative compared to the sudden flashing stampede of reporters who had noticed their presence. "Out the way, let us through," Irving politely warned them as they got their tape recorders out, masking the thickness of his accent as he usually did in public. They on brushed through, slightly dirtying their suits, not commenting on any questions. An angry feeling churned inside Edmund's stomach. Why did he know that not admitting reporters would only make them come in greater numbers? It was such a stupid thing to do.

Once they were out of the quagmire they speed-walked to safety. One young female reporter squeezed herself out and called after them.

"Sir! What do you have to say about Robert de Gobin's actions?"

Both men tried to ignore the voice, looking straight ahead.

"SIR! ARE YOU PROMOTING WAR CRIMES!?"

They quickly nodded to the doorman and disappeared inside. Edmund wished he could get back at her, but knew he couldn't.

* * *

The reporter had stood poised for heckling, with her back arched forwards and her hands over her mouth. Once the Prime Minister was out of sight she straightened herself up with a jump and smiled at the luminescent entrance: a sarcastic, lovable smile of knowing that the truth is barred but courting its authority anyway. She turned and swished her hair, supposing that the lights of the hotel would follow her. Some stories, like readers, are stupid enough to fall for seduction.

Bouncing back to her team, stationed at the back of their _HRTV News_ van, she noticed that they were both looking at her. Not in a particularly happy manner.

"Way to go, Faith," the man said to her, "embarrass us in front of every other news station in the region why don't you." The girl opposite him nodded. "Promoting war crimes? What kind of a question is that? You sound like you didn't even read the notes in the package properly. Sinnoh have pulled _out_, not join-"

"I didn't see anyone else getting their attention," Faith answered, tossing her tape recorder at the man. After that she pushed her way into the van, flicked on the radio and prepared the coffee machine. "_Of course_ Locke isn't promoting war crimes; in fact, just looking at his face shows that he doesn't even want to be in this city. Rather on the other side of the country, Dewford maybe, soaking up some sun. Insulting people is a pretty good way of getting their attention."

"Yeah, but it didn't work," the woman reminded her. She was slightly older than Faith was and, unlike both of them, from Johto.

"Locke flinched. A little."

"But did he turn around?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, a flinch isn't going to show up on camera, _is it_?"

Faith looked at her co-worker in the face. She wasn't the type to lose arguments. "That's good. Then he won't recognise me inside."

She lifted the coffee machine up, despite it not being fully boiled. Lukewarm drinks were fine. It wasn't like she was out to enjoy it or anything. Sitting in the cold evening airs of Ever Grande City without even a drink to warm her hands made her feel like a war reporter. She grabbed the small, square mirror and checked herself. Yes, she was still the same, wily, fairly good looking, egocentric twenty-something and recently hired reporter that she was when she left the house and hour ago. She had only been out in the van twice before this, and those times were just small things, like a drug raid. So she felt it was almost an obligation to play her cards while she could. One of those was being unknown. She pouted. Looking good.

"Faith, you can't just _sneak in_ to an event like this," the man said. He was a tall and burly guy, the type that felt he could intimidate people just by crossing his arms.

"Mark, please. In terms of creativity you're almost senile."

"And you are acting like a kid! You know that no reporters are allowed in. And there's a guest list, which you're not on. You'll be spotted. And then all the work we've..." He trailed off when he realised that no one was listening.

"I still think you shouldn't have said what you did to Locke. I'd have thought you'd have more control," the other girl said, already inside the fan and munching on a biscuit.

"Come on, Maria, what's done is done. There's not going to be any space in the columns tomorrow about how embarrassing I am. _Unless_ of course you can write so efficiently as to include it." Faith's comments were met with a snarl. "Anyway, we need to get a room in a dingy hotel somewhere so I can get ready. Drive, Mark."

He shut the back-doors and quickly hopped into the front seat.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing Faith."

"Trust me; I don't think Locke would ever go out clubbing with us. We have to bring the party to him."


	3. Bathroom

A crash of noise and water. Done to soften tense pores - clean the skin of any shame or suspicion - cover oneself while enemies prowl above. The Prime Minister pulled his soaking face out of the sink and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror before hitting the floor. A face of shock. He had dived into the pool and propelled himself out like a deep sea swimmer, only to be thrown into violent sunrays and citrine walls. At first he had felt that he could wallow in the depths, float freely about while the noise of the world rumbled above him. But then a strangling feeling came across him. Something he couldn't escape. A minute later his position had been solidified. He lay down inside of a small beige bathroom on the first floor of Gorebyss Falls, which contained, in full: himself, his dinner jacket hanging on a peg, a sink full of water, one door and a bare lamp observing the scene from above. Outside, the mechanical arm of the party was waiting for him to emerge. He knew it.

He stood up and tried to calm himself down. Drying off the excess water that fell on his shirt, he looked at himself more thoroughly in the mirror. A bedraggled, 40-year old profile. Soggy with droplets slipping off his nose.

He couldn't help but laugh. Sometimes he just couldn't believe the things he could convince himself to do. He was _supposed_ to be a head of state. Going to the bathroom to wash his hands had escalated into a cascade of contemplation and forgiveness…o r a subliminal hint at suicide. He wasn't quite sure about that. All in all a good bit of flagellation never hurt anybody.

There were some things Edmund felt he had to accept. Being slightly mad was one of them. Not hallucinatory, or deranged. Probably just a case of paranoia. Anxiety. Depression. His extensive knowledge in the subject of mental disease, and in fact all subjects, had not yet provided a definite answer. That angered him. That's not the way it's supposed to work. Another thing he had to deal with was being caught up in a complex web of politics, responsibilities, obligations, responses, firm action. However, he had only made it worse for himself via one key mistake, which was to be become a public figure – the leader of the Unity Party. The downward spiral continued when he took that party to election. Their winning meant that he had finally hit the bottom of the staircase. Now all he could do was scuttle along the bottom while others observed him from above.

Clearly, having one's body being burned by scowls is enough to make _anybody_ insane.

* * *

"For _fuck's_ sake Maria, couldn't you _help_ me with this?"

The gargantuan proportions of Faith's mission had been reduced and replaced in the last 30 seconds by an obstacle of wires. Figuring out where to hide a tape recorder wasn't a concern she usually had when getting dressed for a night out. Nor was the logistics of this new outfit, witch floated somewhere in the waitress/maid/nurse/porn region. It looked ridiculous. All tight and black and short and frilly and lacy…even with one of those white diaper looking things for headgear. Who would wear something like that? She looked longingly at the jumper and trousers that lay on the bed next to Maria.

"Maria! This outfit is driving me crazy!" she screamed, trying to shove the device in somewhere beyond her hemline.

"Seriously Faith, it's too short for you as it is. You can't just snake the wires down your tights, unless you want to get asked about serious vein infections."

"Well what do you suggest?"

"Hide them inside the corset-thing. There's loads of padding there."

Faith gave her a black look. "Well, no, because it's too tight, and…that would restrict my breathing, I faint, recorder is found, we get busted."

"Do you see _any_ other way of hiding the wires?" Maria laughed before continuing. "You could ditch the hat and wear them as a beret or something!"

"Fuck you," Faith glowered as she walked off into the en-suite bathroom to change. Leaving had not made the surroundings look any nicer. She had asked Mark for a "dingy" hotel; he sure did deliver. Amazing how lodgings only a 10 minute drive away from the most prestigious in Ever Grande could try her standards so fiercely: a strong reek of drug-smoke coming from down the corridor, cracks in all the walls (especially at the edges), god-awful lighting, the ambience of a lunatic asylum…

Maria waiting for her in the bedroom didn't make things much better. '_God, she's so annoying_' was the only thought that came to Faith's mind, and it looped on and on. It wasn't that she was _wrong_ – just that she didn't have to be so irritating about being right. But _how_ was she irritating? Faith couldn't quite put her finger on it. She was just annoying, and acted like what she was saying was obvious. It clearly wasn't.

Faith realised that the bathroom she was in had a litter tray in it, next to the toilet; probably for some Skitty owned by a family from Mauville - went for a holiday and forgot to look at the hotel reviews. Suckers. The owners of the hotel hadn't even taken it out. She pulled open the beaten medicine cabinet and found it still rife with narcotics. Wonderful. She started to wish she could just stay and write a story about this place: "ZERO STARS - THE HORROR HOTELS OF EVER GRANDE". But then the tipoff to the chef at Gorebyss Falls would have been pointless, and she would have wasted money on the servant's dress, and the "miniature" tape recorder. She would just have to break one story at a time. But now she was undercover, a secret agent of sorts. Fighting for the truth. She didn't even have to know what the truth _was_, as it was probably so big she would never even bother to analyse it; she just knew that she was here to break down the barriers the opposition held up. What was going on in Sinnoh at that moment? She didn't know, though she did care. She was told that these sorts of things would make sense as they progress. She felt the stench of the litter tray enter her sphere, so went back in.

As she walked back into the room she briefly forgot what she was doing and why she was there, and realised by the time Maria turned around that her top was gaping open at the back with a trail of wires hanging out.

Maria looked more bemused than angry.

"Do you want me to help?" she asked. A rhetorical question. She wandered over and began to pull at the wires and shove them back inside the garments. Faith felt weak for not having achieved anything. And losing an argument.

"Here," Maria continued talking, "I made you some coffee, and took the liberty of actually heating the water for you. I swear you were in there for about ten minutes. What were you doing?"

Probably just whispering prophetic sermons to imaginary crowds of syringes and cat-litter, Faith silently considered.

"..well, I have to make a call to Gorebyss Falls, to make sure everything's ready with the crew so you can get in. Give me a minute."

Maria turned, walked, sat, picked up the old house-phone that was wired up to the hotel room and began to dial a number. Faith wondered for a second. It was as if she was talking to a different Maria than the one she had come into the hotel with. This Maria didn't argue, actually helped her, made her coffee. It was all very odd. Maybe the drug smoke had gotten to her? Faith dived onto the bed and observed her take the call. It did seem like the same Maria: same olive skin that Johtonians have, same straight set of teeth, same smile, same 'hello this is Maria Swanbrook' that she answered the phone with in the office. Faith all of a sudden felt helpless in front of her. The way she did what she did - anyone could hand her a coffee (though it rarely happened), but no one did it like Maria had just done. For a second all she could think about was their future together, the places they could go, where they would stay at night...

"Faith?"

There she is again, calling...

"Faith!" bellowed Maria, clobbering her on the back of her neck with a shoe, "Quit goofing around! Why'd you stare at me like that? Sometimes you can be so weird."

She put the shoe on her foot and walked out with her bag. Faith was still lying there, confused. She gave herself time to recover. Times like these made her question why she had become a messenger of the truth. Nothing she did ever seemed to be in continuity.


End file.
